


Distractions

by MostlyAnon



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Atlas CEO Rhys, Drug-Induced Sex, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Rival CEOs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 07:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyAnon/pseuds/MostlyAnon
Summary: PWP based on the prompt "what if someone tried to humiliate Jack by drugging his drink during a meeting, but Rhys drank it instead."“You okay there, princess?” Jack asked in an undertone, not looking away from the lawyer currently outlining the new changes to one of the subclauses.Rhys swallowed and nodded, distracted by the heat of the room. Had it gotten hotter? How could it have gotten hotter? “Why?” he asked.“You’ve been rubbing my thigh for the past five minutes,” Jack murmured. “And honestly, kitten, if you don’t grab my dick soon, I’m going to think you’re a goddamn tease.”





	Distractions

The meeting was long.

It had been mostly between their lawyers, arguing out the details of the merger contract while Handsome Jack and Rhys listened, occasionally offering direction. Jack was obviously bored, having resorted to playing with his pen and absently twirling in slow circles in his chair. Rhys wasn’t that much better off, though Atlas had plenty invested in the merger; he was distracted every time Jack flipped his pen into the air or completed another lazy circuit. It would have been infuriating if his focus had detracted from his involvement even a little, but Jack interjected often enough to make it clear that he was following the details of the meeting with attention, no matter what he looked like.

It didn’t help that the room was hot. Jack had waved it off as a mechanical issue that was being worked on and pointed out that they wouldn’t be trapped in an arid conference room if Atlas had agreed to meet on Helios. Rhys had responded that they wouldn’t have had the issue if Hyperion had been willing to meet at Atlas, either, but there they were, stuck on a hodunk backwater corporate center, in an overheated conference room, hammering out the details of the contract that would unite their companies.

Rhys realized Jack was grinning at him, almost a leer, and set down the mug of water he’d been drinking from. “What?” he said, in an undertone, not wanting to interrupt the negotiations.

Jack gestured at the cups. “Nothing. Do you want my bagel, too? Mi cuppa es su cuppa, or whatever the kids say nowadays.”

Rhys looked at the table and realized he’d been drinking from a bright yellow Hyperion mug. He rolled his eyes at Jack. “Here, take mine,” he said, pushing his own, untouched mug at Jack.

“No, no, never let it be said Hyperion isn’t generous,” Jack said, threading his fingers together behind his head. “Have at it, kitten.”

“Pay attention,” Rhys hissed, deliberately and obviously turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

It dragged out-- the negotiations were endless, with almost useless tangents proposed by the sycophants from both sides. One of them, a Hyperion corporate something, Rhys hadn’t really caught his title, kept watching Jack with an almost eager, hungry look. Rhys dismissed it as interoffice politics. Jack made no pretense of modesty or chastity, using sexuality as he used any tool at his disposal. If Jack’s underlings wanted to fuck him, who was Rhys to care?

Except Rhys did care, a little. He felt the whisper of smug satisfaction that, while the other man was lusting after Jack, Jack had been very clear about his current focus on Rhys. The flirtations had started out ridiculous and grown quickly out of control through the entire courtship and negotiations. Rhys had a strict policy about sleeping with corporate rivals, but he had to admit, the idea held more than a little appeal.

Jack had a way of taking all the air out of the room with his presence. He was overwhelming and being the focus of his attention felt good, like a lover’s hand stroked down the spine, a caress. He touched casually and often, and every time, there was a shock through Rhys, a thrill. It didn’t help that the man was a corporate genius and ruthless when it came to business. Negotiating with Jack was sublime, almost sexual, the give and take, the constant thrill of going head to head with one of the greatest business minds in the universe.

“You okay there, princess?” Jack asked in an undertone, not looking away from the lawyer currently outlining the new changes to one of the subclauses.

Rhys swallowed and nodded, distracted by the heat of the room. Had it gotten hotter? How could it have gotten hotter? “Why?” he asked.

“You’ve been rubbing my thigh for the past five minutes,” Jack murmured. “And honestly, kitten, if you don’t grab my dick soon, I’m going to think you’re a goddamn tease.”

Rhys’ hand stilled on-- fuck, his hand was on Jack’s thigh, way too high up to have even a passing pretense of appropriateness. His fingers flexed, feeling the corded muscle under them, and Jack wrapped his fingers around Rhys’ wrist when he went to pull his hand back.

Jack was still focused on the lawyers, eyes sharp, features neutral under his mask. He moved Rhys’ hand up, until Rhys was palming Jack’s growing erection. Jack exhaled softly as Rhys rubbed him through his pants, trying to feel the length and breadth of his cock.

Somewhere in Rhys’ mind, a part of him pointed out how highly inappropriate Rhys was being. The other, larger, louder part of his mind was telling him to unzip Jack’s pants. 

Jack leaned over to Rhys, his lips barely brushing the shell of his ear, his breath hot against his skin. “You got an endgame, here?” he asked Rhys.

Rhys swallowed thickly, barely resisting the urge to turn his head into Jack’s voice, to try and taste the husk he heard in it. He shifted in his chair, his own erection uncomfortable and aching for attention. “Maybe we should take a break,” he said, shutting his eyes against the urges driving him. They could take a break and he could press Jack back into that chair, climb on top of him, and finally get a taste of what he needed.

“Handsome Jack, are you okay, sir?” someone said. Rhys opened his eyes and realized it was the Hyperion fanboy from before, staring at Jack with an intensity that seemed out of place.

Jack seemed to realize it, too. He lifted his head to look at the man with a sharp interest, staring a beat to long as he assessed the situation. “I’m fine, Henderson,” he said, his voice echoing with the sound of a predator’s careful approach. “Why do you ask?”

Henderson stammered and even as distracted as Rhys was, he saw the man look at the yellow mug in front of them. Henderson’s eyes went wide as Jack tracked the look.

“Did you put something in my drink, Henderson?” Jack asked, then inhaled sharply through his nose when Rhys rippled his fingers on Jack’s cock. “A little distraction, maybe?”

Rhys was leaning forward in his chair, towards Jack’s heat, and went easily when the other man pulled him out of his seat. The room spun around him and he found himself leaning over the table with Jack behind him, his ass pressed into Jack’s groin and Jack’s hand pushing up under his shirt.

“And you are quite a distraction, baby, make no mistake,” Jack murmured in Rhys’ ear, nipping at the lobe. Rhys shut his eyes and rolled his hips against Jack, lost in the feeling of the other man surrounding him. “Looks like you took a bullet meant for me, Atlas.” Jack ducked his head and bit down on Rhys’ neck, then licked the small wound, eliciting a breathless sound from Rhys. 

Rhys grit his teeth and opened his eyes to look at the man-- Henderson. Fury mingled with arousal and burned through him, not quite enough to distract him from how Jack’s hands were making him feel, from Jack’s lazy thrusts against his ass.

“I’m going to--” Rhys said, then started again, voice a bit more steady, “I’m going to need a clause written in allowing me to kill this guy,” he said.

“Oh, we can arrange that,” Jack purred, sliding his hand down Rhys’ stomach, making his muscles jump. “But first, he’s going to watch what happens. What was the game, Henderson? Were you hoping to make good on your little crush? Hoping to derail negotiations? Maybe get in my head?” Jack’s voice held promise; the promise of slow, agonizing violence, the promise of a hard fuck. He tilted his head to Rhys’ neck and inhaled as he slid his hand down and caught Rhys’ cock. 

Rhys braced his hands on the table and glared at Henderson even as his hips jumped forward. The other man was wide eyed, mouth working but no sounds were produced.

“Keep. Talking,” Jack told the lawyers, as he reached between his and Rhys’ bodies to unzip his pants. “How’re you doing, there, Atlas?” he asked quietly, sliding his hands back into Rhys’ pants.

Rhys ducked his head and panted, feeling the outline of Jack’s cock against his ass. “I think they need to revisit subclause three,” he said, breathless and on the edge of hysterical amusement.

The Hyperion lawyer was clearly more used to situations like this; he flipped through the document and picked up where they’d said. Rhys leaned against the table, cool against his fevered skin, as Jack undid his fly and pushed his pants down. Skin met skin and Rhys gasped.

“Not how I imagined this happening,” Jack said, stroking his fingers over Rhys’ cock. He rubbed his own cock against the cleft of Rhys’ ass, hissed when the other man rolled his hips back. “Not that I’m complaining. Spread your legs for me, pumpkin.”

Rhys widened his stance. He jerked in surprise when he felt a slick finger against his ass, already sliding in to stretch him. “Where--” he started, but had to bite back a moan as Jack curled his finger inside of him.

“Baby, I’ve been carrying lube since the first time we met,” Jack said, amusement thick in his voice. “You feel like a goddamn dream. Look at Henderson. Was this your plan, kid? God, at least the last guy who betrayed me thought things through. You’re a fucking moron.”

Jack pressed a second finger into Rhys, working him open. His breath was harsh in Rhys’ ear, but he stopped suddenly and Rhys felt his attention shift.

“Read that part one more time,” he told the lawyers. Rhys shifted his weight and tried to focus, then frowned.

“That’s wrong,” Rhys said. “That only applies if there’s a disagreement between the conjoined boards.”

Jack exhaled a laugh and withdrew his fingers. “A goddamn dream,” he repeated and lined his cock up, pushing in inch by excruciating inch. Rhys stretched against the table, then pushed back, seating the other man deeply inside him, and let out a hissing breath of satisfaction. 

“You watching this, Henderson?” Jack asked, drawing back enough to fuck into Rhys. Rhys braced his arms and pressed into the thrust, meeting Jack each time. Jack’s fingers curled around his hips, holding him where he wanted Rhys. He groaned against the back of the other man’s neck; Rhys felt his teeth there.

It was hot, it was fast, it was hard; Jack barely had to touch Rhys’ cock for him to be on the edge. Rhys tried to hold on to that feeling, to the building tension that filled him as he rode Jack’s cock, each thrust hitting deep, Jack’s voice murmuring encouragement in his ears. He shut his eyes and grit his teeth, not wanting to give in to the pressure and pleasure mounting, but then Jack said “come on, baby, come for me,” in a low, demanding tone and his cock hit deep and Rhys couldn’t stop himself from falling headlong into his orgasm, even as Jack came hot and hard behind him.

Rhys fell forward onto the table, boneless, but Jack gathered him up and tilted them both back into his chair, rolling slightly as he settled Rhys in his lap. He nipped once at Rhys’ ear, then waved a hand at their audience. 

“I think you were discussing article four?” Jack said.

Rhys laughed once and shut his eyes. “Nice try, but we’re still rewriting the subclause on disagreements.”

Jack’s grin was in his voice, amusement and satisfaction giving him a purr. “So much for distractions,” he said. He shifted and leaned forward, picking up the yellow mug.

Holding Henderson’s gaze, one hand on Rhys’ hip, Jack drained the cup.


End file.
